Bet she's delighted when she sees him
Pulling in and giving her the eye
Because she must be fucking freezing
Scantily clad beneath the clear night sky
It doesn't stop in the winter, no
When The Sun Goes Down / Arctic Monkey's
The lights of the mirror burned, but I worked through it. My eyedrops were working overtime, and I knew before I went on stage I would need to do something. My skin was crawling, and my back ached. I had indulged before work, but that clearly wasn't going to cut it. The whitening drops Goldie, a coworker, had gotten me on helped with the redness, but did nothing for the pain.
A part of me enjoyed make-up, but putting it on for work stole the joy. It stole the creativity! It took it from adult face paint to the bag I wear over my head so sleazy men can cum. Humiliating. Disgusting. Whatever.
I was nearly finished when I heard Vinnie's voice carry across the dressing room, calling my name. Glancing up, I saw him glaring down at me, and I wondered what in the hell I had done this time. The other girls watched, as I stood up from my chair, sidestepping it and making my way towards him.
I was unhappy, but unsurprised when his arm shot out to grip my upper arm, dragging me behind him. I liked him even less than the previous owner, Lenny, and he had made me give him a blowie to get the job. Vinnie had no interest in the girls, or sex in general. Money was his passion, and I wondered what wet dreams for a man like that must be like. Something Scrooge-McDuck-esque if I had to bet.
In his office, I waited for the door to close and the blows to start, but instead, I raised my eyes from the floor to see two police officers standing by his desk. Their eyes were cold, and hard, and as flat as coins. My breath caught in my throat and I froze, fear coursing through me from scalp to toenail.
They watched me with unimpressed eyes, as I crossed my arms feebly over my chest, as my sheer red robe did little to cover what the sheer black bra beneath laid bare, red frilly hot-pants to complete the look made me a walking sideshow.
"What's goin' on, Vinnie?" I prevented my voice from shaking only barely, tremors traveled down my spine uncontrollably, as I waited for the reply that seemed as if it would never come. Vinnie locked the door to his office, turning a tight smile back towards me, though his eyes warned me that we would be having a more honest conversation.
"That's what these Officers were hoping to find out, Birdie." He said through his teeth, though it was subtle enough that either the uniformed men didn't notice, or didn't care. I lowered my eyes, maintaining a submissive stance that I had found aggressive men tended to react well to. Being short, small, and soft had its advantages, even if it led some of them to grow even more violent. It was a risk worth taking, for seventy percent of the time it worked.
"So we have on file that your name is Holly Francine Chance, is that correct, Ma'am?" The officer began, and I nodded, looking up at him with what I hoped were clear eyes, rather than ones showing the panic I was beginning to feel curling around my esophagus and forcing me to focus on keeping my breathing slow and rhythmic.
"Yes, sir." I lied, trying to smile.
"You aren't in any trouble, ma'am, do you mind if we have a moment alone with Ms. Chance," The louder of the two asked Vinnie, smiling reassuringly at me.
"Well- I- I mean-" Vinnie's tight smile faltered, clearly not interested in leaving before he heard why the police had come to his club. "Yes, of course. I needed to speak to my business partner. Please, take your time." His smile had turned smarmy, and he left without much fanfare.
The moment the door was closed behind him, the Officer who had asked him to leave, a younger man with red hair and a face for a smile, turned to me, feigning a shudder.
"How do you handle that dick?" He asked, smiling like we were old friends.
We weren't.
I shrugged, looking away.
"My name is Officer Isaac Friedman. This is Officer John Alvarez." He gestured to the stone-faced man beside him, who didn't respond, only looking through me, as though I wasn't worth his time. "How are you doing tonight, Ma'am?"
"I'm… fine." I offered, "I'm not sure how much help I'll be with anything, though. I don't do much, other than work."
"That's alright, Ms. Chance." He assured. "Like we had said, you aren't in any kind of trouble, isn't that right, Alvarez?" The man shrugged, noncommittal. How reassuring.
I swallowed, nodding.
The redheaded man pulled a folder from what looked like thin air, making me quirk an eyebrow before dropping it just as quickly. Why is he doing magic tricks right now?
"Ms. Chance, may I ask if you recognize this photo?" He held it up, close to me, and I took it. It was of me. Standing outside of sirens, wrapped in a cut-off puffer jacket and jeans.
"I… uh. Where did you get this?" I asked, confused all over again.
"Answer the question," Alvarez said flatly, and my eyes widened.
"No, I… I don't recognize it. I mean- well, yeah, that's me, but I didn't take this."
"Do you know who did?" The dark-haired man asked, and I shook my head, feeling queasy.
"Where did you get this? What's going on?"
"Everything is alright Ms. Chance, try to breathe," The redhead promised, stepping closer to raise a hand, as if to comfort me, only to stop short when before I could prevent it, I flinched. The man winced but forced himself to continue smiling reassuringly. "Your photo was found at a crime scene-" My eyes widened, and my mouth opened immediately to defend myself. I didn't do anything. "- We don't think you were involved." He assured, but before I could relax the other man scoffed.
Are you sure?
"It wasn't just your picture. Personally, I think it was random. There were dozens. But, Lieutenant wanted us to follow up on them anyway." He shrugged, smiling boyishly. I wondered if he would continue trying to charm me, or if he would eventually decide to drop the act. If he wanted a dance, he just had to show up after work, no need for the fanfare.
"Well," I started, looking back down at the picture in my hand. "This was taken pretty recently, I only bought that coat a couple of months ago."
"A couple of months doesn't give us much of a timeline," the quieter of the two men said, flatly.
"Maybe in December? It was before my last haircut." I said, looking between them. "I'm sorry, I really don't know."
"I understand," Friedman smiled, turning irritated eyes to his partner. "Alverez, do you mind asking Mr. Voss about finding any security footage from when the photo was taken? Maybe we get lucky?"
Alvarez sighed, but nodded, exiting the room.
"Sorry about him. This one was… pretty bad."
"Oh?" I don't care.
"Yeah… freak killed a bunch of cops." He shook his head. "It's so crazy. I mean, I knew Rich. He was a good guy. Didn't deserve all that…"
"I'm sorry," I offered, trying to make it sound genuine. It was clear he saw through it.
"I guess to you, death isn't all that crazy at all, is it?" He sighed. "I'm still pretty new to this city. Came down from New York."
"What do you think so far?"
"It's growing on me," He smiled. "Though, I need someone to show me around,"
I tried to keep my smile fixed, but he saw the flickering edges, and blinked, shock and mild panic covering his face as he raised his hands in apparent surrender.
"That sounded bad, I didn't mean- Not that I wouldn't- Or that you aren't- I just mean-" He sighed. "I only thought you could use a friend. I wasn't trying to suggest anything, honest."
"I'm not so good at friends," I said, smiling apologetically. "I work a lot."
"Me too," He sighed. "How about this? I'll give you my number. If you decide you want to try to be friends, you text me and set up a meeting. Whatever you want to do during that meeting? I'll foot the bill."
"And if I say I want to go shopping?" I teased, lightly, careful to watch his expression, ensuring it remained as light as it was, despite my tone.
"I'll steal my dad's platinum card, and we can call and dispute the charges afterward." He winked.
"You mean commit fraud Officer?"
"Yeah, but against Bank of America. Is that even really a crime?"
'Yes," I laughed, shaking my head. "You're crazy."
"Maybe, but it made you smile. And if that's all it takes then I'd be even crazier not to."
I looked away, uncomfortable again, but forced my smile to stay in place, knowing better than to react in any negative way to the compliment, no matter how kind the man seemed now. The sweetest ones had the meanest tempers, after all.
"What the hell was that, Friedman?" Alvarez asked the moment the two officers were back in the squad car, unaware or uncaring of the hell they had unleashed on the petite woman inside.
"I could ask you the same thing! The minute you saw her you decided to treat her like a criminal. I've never known you to be so judgemental." He started the car, pulling from the side lot where they had hidden the car from view.
"Her Identification says she's twenty-nine. There's no way in hell that woman is a day over twenty-three."
"Oh, please, you can't know that from looks alone. Plus she was wearing an inch and a half of makeup in a dark room. God knows what she actually looks like."
Alvarez raised his eyebrows side-eying his partner with a wry smile. "I'm so sorry, Issac, didn't realize she was your girlfriend."
"Oh stop we just met."
"And you gave her your number."
"She told you?" he said, looking scandalized.
"No, you just did though." He chuckled. "I'm not gonna tell you what to do, you're a big boy. But I'll tell you to be careful. Women like that lie like they breathe. Simply, unconsciously, and essentially."
"Oh please, she's five-foot-nothing and maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet. What the hell is she gonna do to me?"
"Steal your car and crash it into a building? Kill your dog and feed it to you? Bite your testicles off while you sleep?" He offered. "Crazy bitches do crazy shit."
"So now she isn't just a liar with a fake ID, she's a violent psycho. Wow. So, judgemental."
"Just experienced. I've had these fights before, but don't worry, I don't take it personally. Sometimes you boys just need to learn for yourselves."
"So jaded." Issac laughed. "You remind me of my dad, always thinking the worst of people. Maybe she's just having a hard time."
"And maybe she was given that hard time because of her own actions."
"Doesn't mean she doesn't deserve help." The redhead said, "It isn't about romance, honest. I just… I think she's in a tough spot. I know what that's like."
"And I think that's very sweet. But do me a favor and don't put yourself in a tough spot to get her out of one. Gotham doesn't need any more dead cops."
I pressed the icepack to my arm, hoping the bruising would be minimal. Vinnie had been fucking pissed, not that I particularly blamed him. You couldn't have pork conjugating in Sirens. It was a fucking hedonist hotbed, with a taste of something for everyone. Drugs, sex, money, power. I was extremely lucky that Vinnie had been in a charitable mood, and that I was one of the few that would interact with his less-than-hospitable clients- if he got rid of me, his number of girls would drop by the day, because he lost his buffer. I hadn't taken into account that my preference for men of my own financial background would make me so valuable. Of course, I knew some of the girls thought I did it as some kind of Martyrdom, something I allowed them to think, to soften their image of me.
Whispers of how the small blonde kept the meanest of the patrons away from new girls. How brave she must be, what a soft heart.
I enjoyed being liked. It made life easier. People are more willing to help people they like, whether that's Goldie loaning her mascara because mine is missing, or warning me of Vinnie's moods.
I knew that it would be considered manipulative, but I didn't fully understand why that would be considered such an abject negative. I never did anything to hurt anyone. I only ever used circumstances to help myself. All of the outcomes of this supposed manipulation helped me and had zero effect on them. How could it be so wrong if the outcome was not only a net positive but solely positive?
It was something I had briefly struggled with, but in a bad world, perhaps a small amount of mistruth is to be expected. Especially so long as it is only by omission.
The TV was covering a mass killing, some terrorist had killed five people, and the news was going on about his makeup. The pop-psychology bored me, and I flicked the channel back to my cartoons, before lifting my grinder. I needed a smoke. My stomach growled angrily, but I ignored it. I had looked bloated today, I knew it. That was why the dark-haired officer had been so cruel. Who wanted anything to do with a fat stripper? What was the point? I had gained nearly five pounds, I could tell from the shape of my face alone.
It was pathetic. I had been slipping since I had begun working, and the obsessive thoughts took over again. Soon I would be older than all of the girls working there- of course, they already thought I was.
Soon I would be working a bus stop like all the girls who had been at Siren's when I had started working. Under a real pimp. No more favors, just hard work, in skimpy clothes on street corners. I shuddered, imagining standing under that icy moon in the negatives.
If you want to put that off another few years, you need to start putting some fucking effort in.
I shook my head, clearing it. The obsessive ideas weren't helpful right now, even if I couldn't bring myself to disagree with them. Looking down I saw that I had packed the bowl while thinking. Muscle memory is a helluva drug.
The night dragged on, and I smoked myself into a disassociative stupor, leaving myself blank-eyed and staring at the wall, unable to even focus on the background noise of my favorite cartoons.
It was midday when I woke up, staggering and dehydrated. Unfortunately, I would be working tonight as well, so couch rotting was out of the question. Stepping into my kitchen still half unconscious, I opened a can of soda, dashing in a splash of brandy- not much, just the hair of the dog. My favorite breakfast.
As I woke up, wandering around my shitty apartment, I found myself looking at the phone more than once. I don't know why I wanted to call him. Maybe I was bored and he was new. Maybe I thought he was funny. Maybe I was trying to go to prison. What are you thinking? Cops don't like whores, remember? I wondered briefly to myself if I was subconsciously trying to go to prison. Maybe some secret part of me wanted to catch a human trafficking charge for trafficking myself.
I sighed heavily, cursing my own idiocy, and walking to the shower. What the hell would a cop want with me anyway? To fuck me over that's what. That's all they ever want.
What else could anyone ever want from me?